by Nic Saint
“We haven’t told him. We’re afraid that if he finds out it will kill him.” He took a deep breath, and stared out the window. Odelia could see that the death of his brother had affected him powerfully. To lose a sibling is an awful thing, but to lose a twin, she knew, was like losing part of oneself. “Father isn’t well, you see. In fact he’s pretty much at death’s door. He’s a good deal older than Mother. Mother is sixty-six, but Father is eighty-seven, and he’s been ill for quite some time. He’s strong, and he’s holding on for as long as he can, but we’re afraid that a shock like that would be the end. So we prefer to keep him in the dark. Let him think Franklin is still out there, up to his usual mischief.”
“Was he always like that, your brother?”
A smile lit up the man’s face. “Oh, yes. Franklin and I may be twins, but we couldn’t be more different. He’s always been a troublemaker. Even as a young boy he used to run around setting off firecrackers in the kitchen or shooting at windows with a BB gun. He’d drive our parents crazy. I was always the bookish kid, never happier than with my nose stuck in a book in some corner of this big rambling place we are lucky enough to call home.” He turned back to Odelia. “Don’t get me wrong, Miss Poole. I loved my brother. I absolutely did. But he was a handful, and maybe he’s better off now, wherever he is. He was definitely a tortured soul, and the last couple of years even more so than before.”
“Do you agree with your mother that Francine is to blame for his behavior?”
“No, absolutely not,” he said emphatically. “In fact I think Francine had a positive influence on him. While they were together he was doing much better. Unfortunately he couldn’t accept the responsibility of fatherhood, and of raising a family, and so he escaped, and soon was up to his old tricks again. Sleeping around, doing drugs…”
“Did you know he was living in a squat house?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” said Marvin softly. “He’d clearly gone downhill since the last time I saw him. Even though Father had cut him off, we still met up from time to time, and so did mother—behind Father’s back, of course.” He smiled a small smile and picked up the portrait of his brother. “All I can think is that he’s in a better place now.”
Chapter 28
After we got out of the car we looked around for any pets we could talk to. Odelia likes to get the inside track of any place she visits, and the best way to accomplish that is through us. People might keep a lot of secrets from other people, but they can’t keep secrets from their pets, and since those pets usually like to gab as much as humans do, we usually get an earful.
“Is that a horse, Max?” asked Dooley suddenly, indicating a small pen where a pony stood grazing languidly.
“I think that’s a pony,” I said.
We walked over to the pony, and it looked up from its perusal of its supply of grass. “Hey, there,” it said as soon as we hove into view. “Are you guys the new pets? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Are you Marvin’s? Or his mom’s? Gee, I just wish they’d get another pony. It’s not much fun being all by my lonesome out here, you know. I could really use a friend to talk to. Shoot the shit. Chew the cud. Though personally I don’t chew cud—I’m not a cow, you see. I’m a pony, if you hadn’t noticed. So who are you guys?”
“He’s a big talker, Max,” Dooley whispered.
“Yeah, he is,” I whispered back. Which is a good thing, of course. Nothing worse than a pet who won’t talk to us.
“We’re not the new pets,” I said, “either of Marvin or his mother.”
“We’re Odelia Poole’s cats,” said Dooley. “And she’s just visiting your humans—those are your humans in there, I suppose?”
“Yeah, they got me for Franklin’s kids, but then Franklin got divorced and the girls haven’t been here since. Ruth doesn’t like the girls’ mother, see. She thinks she did something to make Franklin leave her, and go down a path of self-destruction, and so she refuses to talk to her anymore, or the girls. Which is a pity, as I don’t have anyone to play with now. The girls were fun. Jaime and Marje. They’re twins, just like Franklin and Marvin. Maybe the twin gene runs in the family? I don’t know. You tell me.”
Unfortunately I had no expert opinion on the twin gene topic, so I decided to skip this one. Instead I explained, “Odelia is here to plead Francine’s case. She wants to make sure the girls are taken care of, since Franklin wasn’t the best at that kind of thing.”
“He refused to pay child support,” Dooley clarified.
“Yeah, Franklin was what you might call an irresponsible father,” the pony agreed. “In fact I don’t think he even liked to be a dad. Which is weird, cause these girls are really nice, and how can anyone not like them, you know? But hey, I guess that’s just the way it goes, you know. My name is Jane, by the way—what’s yours?”
“I’m Max,” I said, “and this is my friend Dooley.”
“Nice to meet you, Max and Dooley. So did you know Franklin?”
“No, we didn’t,” I admitted.
“He was a little weird. Selfish. Wasn’t interested in anyone but himself. And that included me! He didn’t like ponies. Had no use for them, he once told me.” Jane shook her head. “So not a nice person.” She then ripped off a big chunk of grass with her tongue and started chewing. “Too bad he died, though. He wasn’t nice, but that doesn’t mean he had to die.”
“How do you know he died?”
“Duh. I may be the only pony here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have friends, you guys.” Just then, a bird landed on her back and started twittering like crazy. “This is Jake,” said the pony affectionately. “He brings me all the latest news from town.”
The bird took off again, and I asked, “So did your friend Jake tell you what happened to Franklin?”
“Yeah, he did. Died in a fire, right? In some crumbling old building? Sad way to go.” She shivered. “To die by fire. Terrible business. I hate fires, you know. Always afraid one will start and it will kill me.”
“I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, Jane,” I said.
“That’s what you think, Max. There was a fire here a while back. I could see the smoke. I thought that was it. I was going to be for it. But luckily it went out again. Probably Chester burning some old leaves. At least that’s what Jake told me later.”
“Chester? Who’s Chester?” I asked.
“Chester Sosnoski. The gardener. He’s great. Keeps the place looking shipshape. He’s probably the best gardener for miles around. Or at least that’s what Ruth says.”
I glanced around, and had to admit that Chester did a great job: the grass was cut to perfection, the flowerbeds were all immaculate, with not a weed in sight, and all in all the gardens looked more like a golf club than our own backyard. Then again, the Harrisons probably had a lot more spending power and could get the best gardener that money can buy. We have to make do with Gran occasionally remembering she’s supposed to have a green thumb, and Tex finding the time to mow the lawn.
We said our goodbyes to Jane the talking pony, and decided to go for a little stroll, especially after learning that there were no other pets around, so it was frankly pointless for us to enter the house, since there would be no kibble to be had, unfortunately.
And we’d walked perhaps half a mile or so when we came upon a small structure that at one time had been an animal shed, but that now showed signs of fire damage.
“This might be what Jane said she saw,” Dooley intimated.
“Yeah, might be,” I said, “though it does look as if this fire happened a long time ago.”
“They probably want to tear it down but haven’t gotten round to it.”
Just then, a man dressed in rubber boots and a green anorak that had seen better days came stomping up, accompanied by a man who was also in rubber boots but otherwise immaculately dressed.
“So this is where they want the pagoda,” the man in the anorak said.
“Excellent location, Chester,�
�� said the well-dressed man. “I’ll get busy on the plans.”
“She wants it ready as soon as possible.”
“Not a problem. I’ll make it a priority.”
“I think that man is an architect,” I explained to Dooley, “and that man is Chester the gardener.”
Looked like I was right: the dilapidated structure had been earmarked for destruction, a nice pagoda about to take its place.
“Let’s get back to the house,” I suggested. “Odelia will probably be finished by now.”
And so we set a course back to the house. Suddenly the man named Chester uttered a loud cry, and yelled, “Cats! Where did they come from?! Catch those darn cats!”
Looks like we’d overstayed our welcome!
Chapter 29
“So what did you guys discover?” asked Odelia.
They were driving back to town, and she was still mulling over everything that was said.
“Nothing much,” said Max.
“The Harrisons bought a pony for Francine’s daughters,” said Dooley, “but now they don’t come around anymore and the pony doesn’t have anything to do and she’s bored. But lucky for her she has a bird friend called Jake who tells her everything that goes on.”
“Poor pony,” said Max. “Has to stand there all day and nobody is riding her.”
“Yeah, the mom refuses to have anything to do with her former daughter-in-law,” said Odelia. “Or Francine’s girls. Which is such a pity.”
“Oh, and the gardener is called Chester and he doesn’t like cats,” said Dooley. “He even chased us but we were too fast for him—isn’t that right, Max?”
“Yeah, we were too fast for the guy,” Max said with a grin.
“He chased you?” said Odelia. “But why?”
“No idea,” said Max. “He seems to think cats are a pest.”
“Some gardeners do think cats destroy their nice lawns,” she admitted. “Digging holes to do their business in.”
“We would never do that,” said Max indignantly.
“We might eat the grass,” Dooley said. “Especially if it’s nice grass. We do like a bit of nice grass, right, Max?”
“Yeah, but how much damage can one cat do? Nobody will miss a few blades of grass.”
“I’m still happy he didn’t catch you,” said Odelia. “Some of these gardeners have pitchforks, and they don’t mind using them.”
“Pitchforks!” said Dooley, his voice skipping an octave. “Yikes!”
“I probably should have told them I was bringing my cats along, that way you wouldn’t have been in any danger.”
“Oh, dear,” Max murmured.
“Max, pitchforks!” Dooley cried. “But I don’t want to die by pitchfork! That sounds very painful!”
“I don’t think we were ever in any danger, Dooley,” said Max. “And I didn’t see any pitchforks—did you?”
“No, I didn’t see any pitchforks, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there!”
“You made it out alive, and that’s the main thing,” said Odelia.
Just then, her phone chimed, and she pressed one of the earbuds into her ear, and pressed the button on the phone. “Odelia Poole speaking,” she said over the noise of her ancient car’s whining engine.
“Hi, Miss Poole,” said a familiar voice. “This is Francine Ritter. I came to see you this morning?”
“Oh, yes, of course. I just paid a visit to your former in-laws, Mrs. Ritter.”
“There’s no need, Miss Poole. I just talked to Marvin Harrison on the phone, and he’s agreed to pay me what his brother owed me. He’ll even throw in a little bonus.”
“He did? But that’s great news!”
“Isn’t it? I’m so happy I could cry.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news.”
“Thanks, Miss Poole,” said Francine. “Thank you so much for all that you’ve done.”
“I didn’t do much,” said Odelia, feeling much relieved. “I just had a little chat, that’s all.”
“Well, anyway, just thought you’d want to know.”
After they’d disconnected, she thought back to her conversation with Marvin and his mother. Clearly in spite of Ruth’s hard words, Marvin had managed to convince her to take a less cruel stance, and pay the mother of her grandchildren her due.
“What happened, Odelia?” asked Max.
“That was Francine Ritter. Marvin called her. He’s going to pay her the back child support. Isn’t that great?”
“That is great news!” said Max.
“You should ask him to let the kids play with Jane again,” said Dooley. “He really needs to do that, so that Jane will be a happy pony again.”
“Well, let’s hope that relations will get back to normal and Ruth will invite her granddaughters over for visits again,” said Odelia. Marvin looked like a decent person, and she hoped he’d continue to do right by Francine and his two little nieces.
For a moment, she lapsed into thought, and soon found her mind drifting back to the case of Franklin Harrison’s death. For some reason something was still bothering her about the whole business. And suddenly she decided to have another chat with those disagreeable neighbors—the Dibbles.
“Are we going to visit the Dibbles again?” asked Max after she’d steered the car in that direction. That cat never missed a trick.
“Yeah, I thought I’d apologize on Gran’s behalf,” she said. “And maybe ask them again about that phone call. See, that keeps bothering me, Max.”
“What does?”
“So there were three phone calls, okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“One of those calls was Gran, the other one was Joshua—so who was the third caller?”
“And you think it might have been the Dibbles?”
“It must be, right?”
“But they say it wasn’t them.”
“I know, but they could be lying.”
Max thought about that for a moment. “Why is this so important?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Call it a hunch.”
“Your hunches are usually aces.”
“Why, thanks, Max.”
“So you should follow them,” he advised.
She pulled up outside the Dibble place and got out. “I think this time you better stay put. The Dibbles didn’t strike me as the kind of people who would love your company.”
“Sure thing,” said Max.
She hurried across the street and rung that now-familiar mother-of-pearl bell again. Moments later the door opened a crack, just like it had last night, and two hostile eyes bored into hers. “You again,” said the woman. “What do you want this time?”
“Hi, Mrs. Dibble. I just thought I’d drop by to—”
“Bart!” the woman suddenly bellowed. “Better watch out! That reporter from last night is here again. I’ll bet she’s trying to distract us while her grandma burgles the place!”
“My grandmother is nowhere near here,” said Odelia, who hoped that this was true. “In fact I’m here to apologize on her behalf. She should never have done what she did.”
“I heard they let her out again. They should have kept her under lock and key. The woman is loony tunes. And so is her friend.”
“Look, I just wanted to ask you once again: are you sure it wasn’t you who called the police the night of the fire?”
“I told you this before and I’ll tell you again, cause obviously you have a problem with your ears. We didn’t call no cops.”
“But at the police station they told me you’ve called the police many, many times these last couple of months. So why not when there was a fire…”
The woman’s eyes flickered dangerously, and Odelia suddenly understood.
“You wanted that place to burn down, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t call the police. You hoped the place would burn down and you’d be rid of it once and for all.”
“So what if we did? You can’t believe the trouble we’ve had, missy. People
coming and going at all hours of the day and night. Drug dealer central is what it was. So if you’re going to ask me if I’m happy someone torched the place? Hell, yes, I am. I think whoever set fire to that dump deserves a medal.”
“But three people died.”
“Not people, drug dealers!”
“That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think? They may have been drug dealers, or drug addicts, but that doesn’t mean they deserved to die.”
“Nothing out here, Ma!” the woman’s husband yelled. “I think this time she came alone!”
“Good,” grunted the woman, and made to close the door.
“One more question,” said Odelia quickly.
“Oh, what is it now?”
“So you said you saw my grandmother sitting in her car, with her friend, yeah?”
“So?”
“And you saw Joshua Curtis come walking out of the house. Did you see anybody else? Someone acting suspicious or who wasn’t supposed to be here that time of night?”
“Look, people acting suspicious was all that place was about.”
“But that particular night?”
The woman stared at Odelia for a moment, then finally said, “One person came walking from behind that fence over there. I remember thinking they looked entirely too well-dressed to be a drug addict or even a dealer.”
“They?”
“Couldn’t see if it was a man or a woman. Kept their head down.”
“And this person came from behind that fence?” She glanced across the street. Next to the house where Franklin Harrison had died, a fence had been erected, to shield off the vacant lot which lay behind it. Graffiti covered the fence, giving it a derelict look.
“Yeah, crawled right from behind it.”
“So not out of the house?”
Mrs. Dibble shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. There’s a back entrance to number 51. Behind that fence is just an empty lot, all overgrown weeds and brush. You cross it and you’re at the house. Junkies use it all the time. It’s like a minefield of needles and junk. I’ve told the police many times to clean that place up. It’s dangerous, both for pets and kids. Though no decent parent would let their kids play out there, and no pet owner on this block would ever let their dog off the leash to run around there.”